


Mind's Eye

by Winterling42



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18890707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterling42/pseuds/Winterling42
Summary: Caleb is temporarily captured by the Cerberus Assembly, Astrid still loves him (in a really painful, twisted way) and convinces Trent NOT to kill him out of hand. The Nein rescue his body, but have to go through some magic shenanigans to save his mind!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things I most admire about Matt’s world-building is his effort to bring in and use D&D official lore while also giving it his own spin. This….is not that. Don’t know how spells/enchantments/potions work, don’t care.

“And it’ll be like you were always here, Bren,” Astrid hovered just out of reach, her smile strained, older than he remembered. But it was  _her_.

“No, NO, Astrid, you don’t understand, we were wrong, we–”

“Enough.” Ikithon snapped his fingers, and Caleb felt his body freeze. His lungs strained against petrified ribs, and he wanted to choke on the words stuck in his throat. “I offer you this against my better judgement, Volstrecker. He is your responsibility now.”

“Yes, yes,” Astrid put her hands on either side of Caleb’s head, holding him still as Trent approached with a twisted glass vial in one hand and a familiar scowl. Astrid leaned close to whisper as the Archmage approached, “Just do it right and you’ll wake up. It’ll be quick, I promise, and you’ll forget you were ever gone, Bren, we’ll be just like we were meant to be. I promise.”

She did not kiss him, but she did hold his jaw open while Ikithon poured the thick, chalky potion down his throat. And all the while Caleb was screaming like he never had, before.

_NONONONONONO NO NO. No. No. No…no. no. no. Astrid._


	2. Chapter 2

They rescued him. Of course they did. The Mighty Nein swept into the safehouse like a whirlwind of magic and blades, moving too fast to see. They swept in daringly, dashingly, and forced the Scourgers to flee.

Caleb knew none of that. When neither a cure wounds or a lesser restoration woke him, their string-bean wizard was thrown over Yasha’s shoulder and carried out of the house like a sack of potatoes.

The Nein regrouped in a warehouse not nearly far enough away to be safe, and discussed their next move.

“What do we do what do we do?” Nott screeched, still waving her crossbow wildly.

“I, uhhhhh, I don’t know.” Beau ran her hands through her hair, only to remember they were sticky with blood. She grimaced and shook them as she said, “I was kinda relying on Caleb to get us outta here.”

“Yeah, could really use a quick exit to Rosohna right about now.” Fjord kept calling and dismissing the falchion, a nervous tick that sent flashes of translucent green fire across the empty warehouse.

“Do you think maybe a greater?” Jester muttered to Caduceus, who sighed and scratched the shaved side of his head.

“Worth a try,” he said, eyeing Caleb’s still body. They’d determined that he was breathing, that he was suffering some kind of magical effect but it wasn’t actively harming him.

“The thing is…” Jester said softly, just to him. “The thing is, I can only cast greater restoration OR dispel magic at a higher level, technically. Until we sleep.”

“Mmmm. I have enough in me for a dispel, if you take the greater.”

“Alright, but if this doesn’t work…” Jester sounded uncharacteristically hesitant, and was trying very hard to hide her doubt. It was only a matter of time before the whole city was put looking for them, notoriety they’d barely avoided in Nicodranas and that would serve them poorly now.

“We’ll try the next thing next,” Caduceus said steadily, and Jester nodded.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Beau paced out around the edges of the mostly empty warehouse, listening intently for armored footsteps, for muttered spells or explosions. But all was silent through the wooden walls, dark at the cracks she could peek through. She hated feeling this _useless_.

When she came back to the group, she tapped her staff a few times against the ground. Out of nerves, maybe, or just so nobody (Nott) got twitchy fingers. Caduceus had conjured a little light into his staff’s crystal, making a tiny radius of yellow in the black of the building.

“I have an idea,” Beau said abruptly, standing just inside that radius. “It’s probably not a good idea, but...I figure it’s the only one we’ve got.” She waited a moment for someone to contradict her, to jump in with an actual plan. When no one did, she took a deep breath and went on, “We could make it to the Cobalt Soul. There’s got to be one in the city, and I’m still part of the order. Technically. I’m pretty sure we could ask for sanctuary. The monks are surprisingly sneaky sons of bitches, they’ll be able to stop us being scryed on. I think.”

“You _think_?” Fjord gritted his teeth. “Shit.”

“I know, _I know_. But what do you want from me, man? Either they’re going to find us through magic or the old-fashioned way. We’re not exactly stealthy.”

“I think we stealthed pretty good getting here.” Jester sounded a little affronted. “Can’t we just cast disguise on ourselves and hide Caleb in a bag or something?”

“Remember how we put the dodeca in the haversack to keep people from scrying on it?” Nott piped, but when Jester perked up she continued, “We should absolutely _not_ do that with Caleb.”

“Why _not?_ ” Jester asked, peering into the depths of her violently pink bag.

“For one thing, we put dead things and severed heads and shit in there,” Nott looked in with her, poking dubiously at the contents. “For another, I don’t think he would fit.”

“But we do have that bag of holding.” Jester sat up and made a grabbing motion at Fjord. “He would fit in there.”

Fjord took a reluctant half step towards her, saying, “Jester, I don’t think you’re supposed to put _living_ things in there...”

“Lets. Not test it now,” Beau said, though Jester sat back with a disappointed sigh. “What about the Cobalt Soul thing? For, against?”

“Well, we know that they don’t like the wizard-people,” Jester said slowly, looking around at the others.

“I think we can get there,” Yasha said. She was watching Beau the whole time, something uncomfortably like faith in her shadowed eyes.

“You know where it is?” Fjord asked, and Beau made a face.

“I’ve never been to Rexxentrum before. The only one who has is...” she trailed off, and everyone turned to look at Caleb. “But it’ll be in the temple district.” Beau continued, rallying. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Fjord muttered a few curse words, but didn’t say anything constructive. Jester tapped her feet together nervously, watching him. Nott, still with her crossbow out, bared her teeth and said, “I don’t really care where we go, back to the inn or to the library, but let’s get moving. I don’t like being in one place.”

“Me neither.” Yasha stood and, moving Nott gently aside, hoisted Caleb over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She turned to look at Beau again and gestured towards the door. “Lead the way, I guess.”

With that extremely dubious endorsement, Beau slung her staff over her shoulder and crept out into the unfamiliar night. The rest of the Nein followed behind her, except for Nott, who moved to flank around their right.

Mostly the city was quiet, which was both good and bad. It meant the Crownsguard and the Righteous Brand weren’t after them in full force. Good thing. It also meant that the Scourgers—and by extension, the Assembly—were still operating under the assumption that they could kill the Mighty Nein quickly and sweep everything under the rug. Bad thing. Very bad thing.

The closest call they had was when a cloaked figure swooped overhead and hovered above the crossroads for a moment. Beau and the others ducked down into the nearest alley, but if they’d been spotted...

The figure turned a few times in the air, long enough that Fjord started to edge up to offer a distraction. Just as they flitted away. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and they went on.

They were on the streets a lot longer than Beau would have liked, more than an hour. But eventually they coasted up to the side entrance of the large, stocky building with two great banners of the Cobalt Soul at the front. The temple/library/archive/hopeful safehouse was blocky, just a big square of wood and stone amidst the splendor of the other temples. Even at night Bahamut’s sanctuary gave off a mirrored sheen in the light of the fires outside the Allhammer’s.

During the day the streets would be thronged with faithful, priests, and Crownsguard. Now everything was eerily empty, and the knock Beau gave the door seemed to echo impossibly loud. For a long moment, no one answered, and then just as she was bracing herself to knock again, the door opened a crack.

A sleepy eye peered out at her, the shaved head of an acolyte maybe ten years younger than she was. “Can. Can I help you?” the girl said, stifling a yawn in the middle.

“Hey, hi,” Beau shifted, working hard not to lean on the door or get uncomfortably close to the door guard. “What’s your name?”

“Cleo.” The little monk wannabe was starting to perk up and look around at the motley crew gathered behind Beau, who smiled tightly.

“Cleo? That’s a nice name. I’m Beau, I work here. Well, not _here_ here, but I’m part of the Cobalt Soul, and–”

“You don’t _look_ like one of the Cobalt Soul,” Cleo said, and Beau paused. Looked down at the loose, comfortable clothes she’d bought in Rosohna.

“Uhh. Right. I’m...listen, kid, I’m an Expositor, I have some _really important information_ about the war. The whole she-bang. So if you could just—” There was a rushing sound from overhead, and Beau broke off to look for wizard assassins. Everyone in the party ducked instinctively, making themselves smaller against the unforgiving wall of the library. When Beau looked back, Cleo was watching them with both eyes narrowed. This one might be too smart for her own good.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Cleo said, but before Beau could answer she continued, “But I can get someone who’ll know for sure. Stay here.” And she slammed the door shut. Locked it, too.

“Shit.” Beau pulled out her staff and put her back up against the wood, one eye still on the sky.

“We don’t exactly have time to wait around,” Fjord started, and then there was another rush of air and they all fell silent. She hadn’t spotted anything above them, but the temples were tall. It was possible the Scourgers had landed elsewhere and were headed here now. Hells, they might be invisible for all she knew.

“Maybe if we just hide inside...” she said, and suddenly Nott was at her elbow, lock picks at the ready. The goblin girl grinned up at her before focusing in on the door itself.

“Got it!” she said after just a second, and the heavy wooden door swung open soundlessly. Inside was a small foyer, empty except for a stool next to the door and a pile of books. There were three hallways that led deeper into the library, but Beau wasn’t anxious to push their welcome more than they already had, and she stayed put. The Nein did take up most of the little room, though, especially after Yasha’d set Caleb out on the ground so she could put both hands on her greatsword.

Not long after they’d closed and locked the door behind them, Beau picked up the pitter patter of anxious feet from the hallway to their left. Cleo emerged with an older monk, a light-skinned human with piercing brown eyes and a few wrinkles around her face, exaggerated by her scowl.  
“What is this, who are you?” the monk demanded, standing in the archway with one hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “How dare you break into the Reserve!”

“It wasn’t really breaking and entering—” Beau started.

Fjord broke in to add, “I apologize, ma’am, no harm was intended. We are simply facing pursuit of a very disruptive nature, and wished to avoid unnecessary damages.”

“ _Pursuit?”_ the matron looked like she was about to have a heart attack. But only if she could kick them out first.

“Do you know Dairon?” Beau asked, a little desperately. “Elf lady, bald, about yea tall?”

The monk caught her breath for the first time since she’d appeared—stopped to think. “I know Dairon,” she said at last. “What about her?”

“She sent us. Me. Sort of—it’s a long story. But I’m training under her to be an Expositor, and we really need a place to stay.” Out of the corner of her eye, Beau saw Fjord give her a thumbs up.

“If you are truly what you say, you know that I have ways of verifying your story.”

“I do.”

“And you would submit to such questioning, given where your story stands?”

“I would.”

The monk looked faintly surprised by Beau’s quick answer, or her agreement, or maybe both. But she took up a fighting stance after a moment, quirked her fingers in a ‘come hither’ gesture.

Beau took a deep breath as she stepped forward, bracing herself against a flinch. This was going to hurt.

The old lady hit her in the throat and the gut, one-two, and Beau felt the wash of unfamiliar qi sink into her body. It stayed heavy in her throat, like a wash of mint and ice. She had to fight for a moment to get her breath back, to work through the freezing sensation in her lungs. Only when she was sure she could talk without her voice cracking did she look back at the monk and nod.

The lady nodded back, slowly. Behind her, Cleo was staring at all of them with wide, fascinated eyes. “What is your name?”

“Beauregard Lionett.” Beau tilted her chin up to say it, a defensive tic she couldn’t quite swallow down here. “Although you might as well leave that last name out of it.”

“What is your purpose here, Beauregard?”

“We’re here seeking shelter, that’s all. From an enemy this group has in common with the Cobalt Soul—the Cerberus Assembly.”

The monk raised one pale eyebrow, like she doubted that last point, but Beau could still feel the freezing taste of truth on her breath. She wasn’t lying, though it was technically possible that the Assembly was more of a Dairon/Expositor problem than a widely known Cobalt Soul one.

“Very well. Are you, Beauregard, a member of the Cobalt Soul?”

“Yes.” This, at least, she could answer with confidence. “Like I told the kid, I’m an...Expositor.” That one took a little effort to get out, her throat trying to close up solid with ice. She hadn’t ever officially ‘graduated’ from being Dairon’s apprentice, but what the hell. If the last few months didn’t qualify her to be a full-blown Expositor, then nothing did.

Again with the doubtful eyebrow raise. The monk went on with her questions as if the title meant nothing to her. “And what is your relationship with Dairon?”

“Uh. Complicated?” That clearly wasn’t going to fly. Beau gritted her teeth and went on, choosing her words _very_ carefully. “I was Dairon’s apprentice in Zadash, briefly. Until she got sent away to Bladegarden. She and I worked...in Xhorhas to gather information about the Krynn.” Beau tried to say that they’d worked _together_ in Xhorhas, but the ice closed up and wouldn’t allow it. She and Dairon hadn’t—quite—been working at cross-purposes in the East, but they sure has hell hadn’t been working together on anything. Not until much later.

“You’ve been to Xhorhas?” Cleo butted in, and Beau grinned at her before the matron could push her back.

“Yeah, to Rosohna itself. Pretty cool town, I thought.”

“Enough of this. I want you to swear that you will bring no harm to this library, or it’s keepers. That whatever your mission in Rexxentrum, you will keep the reputation of the Cobalt Soul clean.”

Beau had to glance back at the others before she answered that one. They’d already been hugely compromised by the Scourgers, and obviously everything else had to wait until after Caleb woke up. After that happened, they wouldn’t need to hide here anymore. They’d just have to keep a low profile while they were here. Lower than usual, anyway.

“I swear,” she said, looking back at the monk, who nodded again. A few seconds later the icy feeling faded from Beau’s throat and lungs, and she allowed herself a few gasps of warm air.

“Very well.” The matron was still frowning, but she didn’t seem like she was going to keel over or kick them out any second. “We have a few rooms available—”

“Is there someplace hidden?” Caduceus asked suddenly, from the back. He’d been leaning against the door a little, but at his height he was still easily visible. “Someplace that can’t be looked into from a distance, say?”

The monk’s scowl deepened, but she did nod after a moment. “We have a room like that. Follow me. Cleo, get a lantern and some food for our. Guests.” She led them down the central hallway, through a darkened corner and into the main library.

Even without the lights, the space was beautiful. Dark wood shelves stood in ten feet high rows along the floor, and two floors of open balconies above them were also backed with shelves. Smaller study rooms and nooks branched out from both the ground floor and the balconies, and the ceiling was covered in stars. Beau found herself craning her neck, trying to decide if the stars were actually glowing or if they were just that brightly painted. She stopped after she almost ran into one of the bookcases, and followed the monk to a small, inconspicuous door under a staircase.

“This is meant to house the more dangerous tomes in our collection,” the old lady said, unlocking the door with a key from her ring. “Until such books make their way into our possession, or we deem it necessary for any of our current charges, it is empty. You’ll be hidden here, both magically and from more mundane searches.”

“Thank you,” Beau said, reaching out to grab the monk’s wrist as she stepped away from the door. “Thank you.”

The monk shook her off, but her frown had mostly gone, and she inclined her head in a very small bow. “It is my duty to help members of our order however I can,” she said, then added, “But if you have brought the Assembly down on us I will throw you to the wolves.”

“Better hope you keep us hidden then,” Beau said, her mouth dry. The lady smiled crookedly and gave the key to her.

“I will send Cleo with meals for you tomorrow as well. Open the door only for her, and you should be fine.”

“Will do.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay, we made it.” Fjord was pacing at the bottom of a small set of stairs, watching as Yasha laid Caleb out again on the stone. Nott immediately folded her cloak to put under his head, and Caduceus ran a hand over his chest to check for wounds. “Now what?”

Beau shook her head as she pocketed the key, sitting on the last step down to watch the rest of her party crowd into the twenty-foot space. “Hells if I know, man, I had the last good idea.” 

“I could always ask,” Caduceus said, looking up from his position kneeling next to Caleb. There was something about the way he emphasized the last word...he wasn’t talking about asking anyone mortal. 

Beau and Fjord looked at each other, a look that meant something to both of them but left the others in the dark. Fjord nodded, and Beau shrugged, and both of them looked at Caleb. 

“Couldn’t hurt,” Fjord said, trying too hard to be casual. 

“We’ll sleep on it.” Caduceus settled back into a cross-legged position, his expression more serious than usual. “Brainstorm later.”

“We plan at dawn?” Yasha laughed softly as she said it, and it was her laugh as much as anything that made Beau smile back.    
“Sounds good to me. Cad, you ask your god what’s up, and we’ll see what floats to the top of my subconscious.” 

 

* * *

 

Caduceus gathered everything he needed for the spell, remembering the last time he’d cast it. It was a way to center himself, to put aside the weight of the others’ expectations and  _ listen _ . He sat down in the little circle he’d traced on the stones, lit the bundle of incense he’d been carrying since he’d left home. It didn’t feel as  _ right _ as the time he’d climbed the crow’s nest on the  _ Balleater _ , or as deep as the vision he’d had under Assarius. The wild seemed very far away here, in the captial city of the Empire. Caduceus has never particularly liked cities–the noise and bustle and  _ paths _ , so many paths that led the wrong way. 

But this was not the city, Caduceus reminded himself, taking a deep breath of smoke. This was a basement, under the ground, wrapped up in the quiet of the grave. Slowly, amidst the scents of lavender and wormwood, Caduceus felt his mind unfold into a plant reaching for sunlight. For answers. 

He felt the Wild Mother’s waiting presence a cascade of awareness against him, comforting and warm. It took him a moment, basking in that presence, to remember that he needed to ask Her a question. Caduceus reordered his thoughts, shuffling layers of awareness until he found what he was looking for. 

“How do we help Caleb wake up?” 

Though there were no visions in this place, nothing like sight at all really, Caduceus  _ felt  _ the Wild Mother smile. She reached down to touch him, and that touch was a word.  _ “Dream _ ,” She said, and then She was gone. 

Caduceus was left to fold up his leaves, put himself back into a two-legged body and open eyes that saw only light. He sneezed the last of the smoke out of his nose and smacked his lips to get rid of the dryness in his mouth. 

“Caduceus,” Jester said, sitting up with a gasp. “Did you ask? Did it work? What’d she say?” 

Caduceus blinked a few times under the onslaught, glancing around their little shelter-box. He’d waited until pretty much everyone was asleep to cast his spell, and now the Nein were still and quiet as they ever were. 

Nott had her head on Caleb’s chest and one arm flung over him, like she couldn’t believe he was breathing unless she  _ felt _ it. Beau and Fjord were leaning against the wall and each other, Beau snoring open-mouthed. She had one foot stretched out to rest against Caleb’s side in a way she probably thought was casual. 

Jester and Yasha were on watch, Jester against the wall next to Beau and Yasha up front with her eyes on the door. The Magician’s Judge lay bare across her knees, glittering in the dim light of the lantern they’d been given. There was a whetstone and oil next to her, though there was no need to sharpen the enchanted weapon. Her own form of worry, Caduceus knew. He wouldn’t comment on it unless he needed to. 

“Caduceus,” Jester said again, and he blinked, refocused. 

“Oh, yeah. I think I know what we can do.” He sighed, reveling in the movment of air through his lungs. “But we’ll have to sleep on it. Do you know the Dream spell?” 

Jester thought for a moment, chewing on a few ends of her hair as the tip of her tail flicked back and forth. “I  _ think _ the Traveler told me about something like that,” she said. “I can ask him I guess.” 

“What exactly are you planning?” Yasha asked, twisting around so she could look directly at him. Caduceus smiled back at her, projecting as much confidence and calm as he could. 

“If Mr. Caleb can’t wake up, we’ll have to go to sleep if we want him back.”    
Yasha nodded slowly, like she wasn’t sure what this was about but she was willing to go along with it. Caduceus nodded back in much the same way and went to curl himself into the back corner of their Cobalt Soul bolt hole. Chuckling to himself over the rhyme, Caduceus slept, and dreamt of plants that were minds, and the sum warm as a mother’s smile, and himself between them as a gardener.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Dream is a 5th lvl illusion on the Sorcerer, Warlock, and Druid spell-list. Technically, Fjord MIGHT take it, assuming the Nein are a higher level by the time they hit up Rexxentrum. Even if Jester and Cad COULD cast the spell, it only targets 1 person plus the target of the Dream. 
> 
> But that's boring! Everyone's here for maximum heart-break!

“ _Ich weiss, Mutti!_ ” A boy, about eight or ten years old, came racing down the village path with a book wrapped in his arms. He’d turned back to call to someone out of view, and by the time he was looking forward again he was nearly on top of them.

Fjord tried to get out of the way, but the kid tripped over his own feet and ended up sprawled on his face right in front of them. And it was recognizably Caleb, from the freckles to the pale ginger of his hair. Besides, Nott would know that voice anywhere, even as a child. She stood frozen while Jester rushed forward to help him up...and steal his book.

“Oh, is this in Zemnian?” she asked, crestfallen as she flipped through the pages.

“Ja, and it’s _mine_!” Little Caleb reached up to grab it, staring around at all of them with none of the fear she’d grown so used to seeing in him. “I have to go to _lessons_ , Herr Gruss makes me do lines if I’m late!”

“What’re you taking lessons for, then?” Fjord asked, crouching down so he was eye level with the boy.

“Just regular stuff. Reading in Common and history and things. Are you an orc?” He reached out to touch Fjord’s face, curious as a cat. Fjord jerked away, scowling for just a second before he modulated the expression.

“Half-orc,” he said, very shortly. Caleb was unswayed.

“Does that mean you’re bandits?” He stood on tiptoe to peer at Yasha’s face more closely, then rounded on Nott. “You look like bandits.”

“We’re, ah, we’re not bandits,” Nott said, resisting the impulse to shrink back into her hood. “We’re...” but she couldn’t think of what they were, really.

“Way too well dressed to be bandits,” Beau chimed in, pulling at the loose silk of her pants like a little curtsy.

At the same time Jester said, “We’re a traveling circus!” in that bright, loud voice of hers.

“Eh, hold on,” Beau made a cutting gesture with one hand, shaking her head. Fjord laughed outright. Caduceus frowned, but thoughtfully. Yasha looked startled and pleased, like she was happy to step back to that part of her life.

Nott was horrified. “No, no, absolutely not--” But Little Caleb was already clapping, his smile a laugh that threw his head back. He jumped up and down with Jester, dancing along when she held out her hands.

“I’ve never seen a circus before!” he said, staring around at all of them again. Any thought of lessons was forgotten at once, Nott could see, though he did wrap both arms around his book when Jester handed it back. “What do you do? In a circus, I mean. Are there lions and bears and cockatrices? Do you--” he paused to take a deep, awestruck breath and went on in a whisper, “Do you do any _magic_ in the circus?”

“We sure do,” Jester sang, and then looked around the open street, deprived of her usual introductory trick.

“Hey, Ca--kid,” Nott pulled a piece of wire out of her pouch. “Watch this!” She twiddled her fingers over the bent wire, muttered the same words as always, and said directly into his ear, “ _Lots of us can do magic, but this trick is yours and mine. You can reply to this message._ ”

Little Caleb stood there with his mouth hanging open for a second, before launching into a torrent of words that overwhelmed the message spell.

“ _Does that mean you’ll teach me the spell? Can you hear_ me right now? Is it like the Farspeech spell they use in the fairytales? Can you hear me even if I go away? Can you reply to _my_ message?”

He took a break for air and Nott rocked back on her heels. “Uhh,” she said, glancing around frantically at the others.

“Here, Jester, throw me up in the air,” Beau said suddenly, very loudly.

“Yeah, okay!” Jester turned and held out her cupped hands without hesitation, though she did look pretty confused about it. Between her lift and Beau’s natural springy abilities, they launched Beau at least ten feet into the air. There was a moment, so quick that Nott almost missed it, where Beau’s flip and spin _should have_ put her flat on her face. It just...didn’t. Out of everything that might have been dreamlike here, Nott hadn’t expected the weirdest thing to be slightly above-average flipping gymnastics.

Then again, this was _Caleb’s_ dream. With a mind like his, maybe crazy dreams like Jester’d talked about weren’t a thing. Nott wished Yeza were here; he was much smarter than her and would have been able to keep up with all this. She missed Luc, who would have been instant best friends with Little Caleb, she was sure. She missed Caleb most of all, her Caleb, even though he was pretty fucked up. Even though she’d never seen him laugh like Little Caleb laughed, putting all of his body into it. Her Caleb had Little Caleb’s curisosity, still, and his intelligence and his humor. Her Caleb had been just as excited to learn message as Little Caleb, he’d just been quieter about it. Mostly, her Caleb had always known what to say when she needed him to say it, and Little Caleb just _looked_ at her, with those big blue eyes and too much trust.

She watched him pester Jester for more information on the carnival (“Will there be big white horses that can walk on their back feet? Will there be dancing bears?”) and fiddled with her bit of wire, wishing she knew what to say to wake him up.

It was Caduceus that heard it first. His ears twitched, and then his long slouch started to straighten.

“Ducey? You hear something?” Fjord asked, to distract them from Little Caleb’s insistence on seeing his sword-swallowing trick.

“Yeah,” Caduceus said, and then Nott heard it too. A low roaring sound, coming from the direction Caleb had run from. Little Caleb moaned and covered his head with his hands, curling into himself.

“Cal--Bren, what’s wrong?” Jester was the first to put her hands on his shoulders, though everyone else was also instantly on alert.

“He’s doing it _again_ ,” Little Caleb muttered, more to himself than to them. He tucked his head beneath his arms and _sobbed_ , a heart-breaking sound that made Nott want to kill whatever had dared to hurt him. “He’s doing it _wrong_ ,” Little Caleb continued, but before Jester could do more than look at Nott in anguish, the fire swept into view. It towered as high as the sky, a raging inferno that ate up the road and the buildings to either side. Even from more than fifty feet away, Nott could feel the heat on her face. Over the hungry snap of the flames, she could hear Little Caleb start to scream.

“What the fuck?” Beau had her staff out and was using it to gesture at the swiftly approaching wall of fire. “How do I punch _that_?”

“Run,” Fjord said, and Nott thought that was a _very_ good idea. She pushed Little Caleb in Jester’s direction (“I can’t carry him, he’s as big as I am!”) and turned to flee...into more fire. What had been the village green was engulfed in unnatural flames, burning without fuel. It looked so much like Caleb’s wall of fire that...

“Fjord!” Nott shouted to be heard over the flames. “I want you to hit Caleb!”

“You want what?!” Not just Fjord but also Jester and Beau shouted back. Caduceus said something, but Nott couldn’t quite make it out over the fire.

“You’re the least likely to hurt him!” Nott grinned maniacally, knowing it showed her snaggled teeth. She felt crazy, she felt drunk. She was right, she knew it. “Caleb!” she shouted right in his hear, almost eye level with him from where Jester had him wrapped in her arms. “Caleb, snap out of it!”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Little Caleb didn't react to her words at all, just kept muttering the same word over and over. Nott gave Fjord her best beady-eyed goblin glare.

He and Jester exchanged insultingly dubious looks, but the fire was getting awfully close now, and eventually Jester shifted her arms around so Fjord could slap a child. It didn’t do any damage, as Nott had predicted. What she had _not_ predicted, however, was Little Caleb escalating his muttering to the high-pitched scream that only children could manage. The fire rose with him, making Nott back away from the burning heat.

She remembered the intense pain that came with burning, the furious anger at the fire for hurting Caleb, and then. Nothing.

***

Bren walked down the dirt road, Eodwulf on his right side and Astrid on his left. The dead were behind them, but his childhood home loomed out of the evening night, and the work was not yet done. They had each chosen how they would deal with their traitors, and he had been the one to choose fire. Even in the past year it had become his trademark, the magic that came best to his fingertips. That he loved most. And he stoked his heart carefully tonight, hoping the righteous fury would burn away his fear. His parents were only traitors, and deserved to burn.

Still, when he aimed the fireball, he tried to hit their room. It would at least be quick.

Only it wasn’t. The explosion took out a good quarter of the roof, leaving streamers of flame in its wake. After a moment in which he felt a sickening relief, he heard his mother start to scream. It was an awful, gut-wrenching sound that he had _never_ heard her make. Still, he knew it was her. He stood rooted to the spot while, a moment later, the door shook. And he knew what had happened: His father suffered insomnia, some nights. It have been getting more frequent, last time Bren had come home. And his Mutti liked to stay up with him, finishing some small task by the light of a lantern in the kitchen.

The kitchen, which had only experienced a corner of the blast. Bren dug his nails into the meat of his palms, feeling blood drip down his fingers as he listened to his parents scream. He would _not_ break, they were traitors, nothing but--

The cart rattled as his father threw his weight against the burning door. Bren flinched, and somehow that involuntary twitch broke him free of his paralysis. He took one stumbling step towards the weakening voices of his parents, his Mutti and Vater, who _loved him_.

Astrid grabbed at his arm, but missed. Her fingers only scraped across his sleeve, not that it mattered. Bren was capable only of collapsing to his knees, still twenty feet from the house. Because the screams had stopped already. Black smoke that stank of charred meat rose up and swallowed him, choking him. Gratefully, Bren surrendered to the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

They were in a place. It was black, lightless, but Fjord could still make out the distinctive shapes of his people in the dark. 

"What's that smell?" Jester's voice echoed strangely in the...cave? Room? It was definitely someplace big, from the echoes, but shrouded in some kind of cloth maybe. 

"Smells like somebody left the bacon on too long," Fjord drawled. 

Caduceus corrected him. "It smells like a pyre," he said, and his usually cheerful voice had an ominous bell-like tone underneath. 

“Caleb!” Nott scrambled over to a shape in the corner that Fjord hadn’t even noticed, someone curled into a ball. He couldn’t recognize it as Caleb until Caduceus said, “Does anyone mind if I?” and summoned light into the crystal of his staff. Color washed through the strange room, though the walls refused to come into focus. Smoke billowed around their feet, obscuring an inch or two above the floor. 

And Caleb in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees and his face covered by the sweep of his red hair. Nott tried to put her hand on his, only to have it pass through. Like he was smoke too. Like he was just...part of the wall. 

The party crowded closer; Beau crouched on his other side and Jester leaning sideways so she could try and see his face, Caduceus looming like he always did and Yasha keeping one eye on the rest of the room and one hand on her sword. 

“Caa-leb,” Jester sang softly, turning herself almost upside down to catch his eyes. “Can you hear me?” 

No response. Fjord could see his chest moving, so he was breathing. But there was something hitched and fragmented about the breaths, complicated by the way curls of Caleb-colored smoke kept pouring off of him. 

“Is he...crying?” Fjord couldn’t shake the sudden virulent mixture of deja vu, guilt, and reluctant fascination. This black room was too much like the dark water Uk’otoa put him in, this part of the dream too close to his own. Fjord only had to think what he would be feeling if the team had come in after him, under the water with all of those eyes, to know that Caleb wouldn’t want them seeing this. 

“Caleb, Caleb.” Nott tried to shake his shoulder, but her hand barely even disturbed the smoke. “Wait, hold on!” Fjord caught a glimpse of her yellow eyes gleaming as she turned to get something out of her bag. A piece of wire. 

“Caleb, can you hear me now?” 

And Fjord could  _ feel _ the tension in the room snap to a point when the smoke-Caleb jerked his head up. He looked around wildly, eventually focusing on Caduceus’s staff, and whispered something that made no sound. In the pale yellow light, Fjord could see how red their wizard’s eyes were, could see tear-tracks even through the smoke. He looked away, wrestling down the powerful and useless urge to comfort Caleb. To do  _ anything _ to make that trapped, helpless look go away. 

Nott repositioned her wire and cast again. “We came to rescue you, of course. Now just wake up and we’ll go kick their wizard asses.” Smoke-Caleb didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a momentary smile. He said something longer this time, gestured around the black space. 

“Fail, fail what? We tried greater restoration on you and it didn’t work. How do we help you wake up?” Nott was starting to sound frustrated, bending the ends of her wire in more and more exacting shapes. She was also becoming...harder to see. The smoke, especially around Caleb but also everywhere in the room, was starting to swirl and thicken. Smoke-Caleb stirred, obviously noticing  _ something _ . His first words were lost in the smoke, but as Fjord put his back to the party and summoned the falchion, he heard the faint echo of Caleb’s desperate shout. 

“ _ Geht aus! _ ” the wizard screamed, and then the smoke swallowed all of them. 


	7. Chapter 7

They were in a field. No, Yasha looked around behind them and saw a lurking behemoth of a house, a broad dirt path leading up to the double-wide front doors. And the grass here was kept trimmed, the trees cut into graceful shapes that looked more like arcane runes than trees. She instantly disliked the place, though she couldn’t have said why. 

“Where are we?” Fjord asked, after a minute or so when nothing tried to kill them. No little Caleb came running out to intercept them, though Yasha could hear a rooster crowing around the back of the huge house. Windows gleamed back at her in the early morning sunlight, their arched tops watching the party of motley adventurers gathered outside. 

“I don’t know. Didn’t Caleb mention something about being taken out of school?” Beau looked over at Nott, who narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the house and took a drink.

“Are we in his dreams or his memories?” Caduceus asked, crouching down to crumble some of the dirt in his large hand. “Nott, what’d he say about it?”

The little goblin scowled up at the house even as she answered, like she might win a staring contest with the windows. “He said Icky-dick fed him some potion, that whenever he ‘failed' he woke up in the smoke room. I don’t know. He’s definitely asleep, right? Are _we_ asleep?” she turned to look at Jester. “That’s what your spell does, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jester nodded, then narrowed her eyes and looked around. “Although none of _my_ dreams are this boring...” For a moment, the grass and carefully shaped trees shimmered, slid into brightly painted versions of themselves where Jester was looking. The ocean spilled towards their feet, blues and whites and purples in thick brush-strokes that nevertheless smelled of salt.

Yasha caught a glimpse of a horse-fish looking creature not far away, before a door slammed open up at the house. A human girl stood in the doorway, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. With the painted surf still washing over their feet, all of the Nein turned to watch her. 

“Astrid,” Jester whispered, hands folded tightly in front of her. Without her attention, the little ocean she’d conjured began to shrink, and within a few moments had vanished with a small _ploop_. 

“Are you here for Master Ikithon?” the girl called out, with a heavy Zemnian accent. 

Yasha looked at Fjord, who was looking at Beau, who was still waiting for Nott to take the lead. Nott let out a wordless hiss when she realized that everyone’s attention was on her.

“What do you want _me_ to do?” she asked, clutching very tightly at her flask. “He hasn’t told me any more than he told the rest of you!” 

Beau gave a disbelieving snort, but she did step out and wave towards the house. “Hey! Yeah, sure, we’re actually looking for...Bren?” 

The girl hesitated, might have said something under her breath. Eventually she waved them forward. If this _was_ one of Caleb’s hunt-party, she would know enough magic to be dangerous. And there was no separation between having that thought and holding the Magician’s Judge in her hands. Yasha paused to look at the greatsword, because a moment ago she could have sworn she was unarmed. And she certainly hadn’t _drawn_ the thing. 

“Yasha!” Fjord made a frantic shushing gesture with both hands. “Let’s not antagonize the dream-wizards, right?”

“Right.” Yasha sheathed the greatsword without hesitation, but she continued to think as the Nein followed Astrid through an opulent hallway and into a room walled entirely with glass. And as strange as the walls were, they were nothing compared to the plants within them. Yasha was drawn immediately to the flowers; elaborate confections with frills of white and pink and yellow, some of them as wide as her hand. And others, with long orange necks and yellow tips, or bursts of red deeper than blood. The greenery itself was lush and well tended, but it reminded her too much of blades, of the ten-foot tall razor grass of her homeland. Thorns were hidden here, she was sure of it. 

There was no sign of Caleb, but a familiar sallow old man stood in the courtyard just beyond the glass room. Astrid went out to him, glancing back when the group hesitated at the doorway. 

“Is anyone else getting trap vibes from this?” Beau asked out of the corner of her mouth. 

“No, yeah, definitely,” Jester and Fjord and Caduceus were all quick to agree. Yasha stayed quiet, and she saw that Nott did too. The goblin was busy scanning the plants and vases around them, more focused on finding Caleb than dealing with his ‘dream-wizards,’ as Fjord had said. 

Trap or not, they went out. Yasha brought up the rear, realizing only later that she’d somehow lost sight of Nott. 

Ikithon looked exactly the same as the day she’d met him in Zadash. He nodded and smiled at them the same way he had in real life, a half-sneer like he was too good to be talking to such peasants. Yasha had grown very familiar with that look during her time with the circus. 

“Welcome to my home,” Ikithon said, his smile vanishing once it’d done its work. “I assume you know why you are here?” 

“Uh, no, actually,” Beau straightened her shoulders, puffed out her chest and set her jaw. “Where’s Bren?”

Ikithon only raised an eyebrow and didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his arms and said, as if Beau hadn’t spoken, “Your kind of fickle sellsword is tolerated because of your occasional usefulness to the Empire. You trespass on the goodwill of common folk fearing for their lives from some monster, you carouse and drink at every available opportunity. Bands like yours cause more damage than good, but still, you are tolerated.”

“Hold on just a--”

Ikithon spoke louder, drowning out Beau’s protests.

Yasha leaned over to Caduceus, whose frown was the most seriously upset she’d ever seen him. “Seems a little harsh,” she muttered, and the cleric shot her a glance. 

“He’s not really saying it to _us_ ,” Caduceus answered quietly. 

But before Yasha could ask what he meant, Ikithon snapped his fingers and said, “Kill them,” and everything happened very quickly. 

Ikithon vanished in a cloud of blue-green mist, and a familiar bead of red energy sped towards them from somewhere out on the grounds. It detonated before any of them could react, and everything was a wash of red and roaring flames. Yasha felt them curl around her, sharper than they should be. Hotter than the flames Caleb had conjured before. Was this some trick of his past, something he used to know in the waking world? Or some other facet of the dream?

There was no doubt that it was Caleb. As the smoke cleared, it was Jester who screamed out his name, reaching towards a slight figure in red robes, far away across the lawn. Even as Yasha turned he ducked back behind a tree and disappeared. 

From across the way, in a grove of smaller trees, there was a flash of movement and another streak of light. The thunder hit her a moment after the lighting streaked past, barely missing Yasha but slamming into Jester, then Fjord. Beau moved faster than the light, ducking out of it’s spidery path as it spent itself against the brick of the house behind them. 

“Fuck!” Fjord said, coughing as his hands spasmed in the aftermath of electricity. 

That was when the poisonous cloud rolled over them, obscuring both of the far-away wizards and stinking of tar. The fumes burned her nose and throat, and Yasha lost a few moments trying to hack the acid feeling from her lungs. Jester ran out past her, then Fjord, and then a small darting shape that might have been Nott. 

There was a desperate cry of pain nearby, and the cloud began to dissipate. Yasha was able to straighten up, and this time she _did_ mean to draw the Magician’s Judge and bare her teeth. The familiar weight of her rage bubbled up within her; how _dare_ these wizards hurt her friends? And Caleb, who they were only trying to _help_ ...she wouldn’t blame him, later. After all, this wasn’t the first time they’d taken damage from him. But she could be _angry_ now. 

Yasha looked around the lawn, wrecked now with fires flickering in the corners of the paved courtyard and black stains from the tar-cloud. Beau was all the way over by the oak tree where Caleb had hidden, the others spread out to where another fireball wouldn’t devastate them so completely. Yasha and Caduceus were the only ones left in the courtyard, actually. Just past them to the right, backed up against the wall of the house, Astrid was clutching the feathered end of crossbow bolt embedded in her chest. 

Even as Yasha glanced in the little mage’s direction, Jester’s sparkling energy bolt streaked pasts and lit her up from the inside. For a half-second the bones of her face were visible, outlined in pink, and then she collapsed back against the brick. 

“ _Astrid!_ ” Caleb’s voice was still boyishly high, though it cracked in the middle of her name. Beau had backed him into the open, and even from a hundred feet away Yasha could see him swaying. He had never been the hardiest. 

In her rage, Yasha’s only thought was to eliminate the threats; their weakness was her gain. The feral part of her trusted Beau to finish what she’d started, so Yasha turned her attention to the other grove. Her boots crunched on burned grass as she ran, failing to drown out Ikithon’s magically enhanced voice as it boomed across the garden. “Kill them first! There will be time for healing later.”

The boy in the grove couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He saw Yasha coming and scrambled back, his face still round with baby fat. And then splattered with blood as her greatsword carved into him, the familiar jolt of breaking bones running up her arms. He was still standing, after, but barely. A very small part of her, under seething rage and satisfaction, wondered what his name was. 

“This isn’t how it happened,” the boy whispered, and a screaming wind tore through the trees. It was no spell Yasha had ever heard of, no magic she had ever seen. One moment she was standing over the child with her sword dripping, and the next her skin was burning, her sword was gone, and the wizard another fifty feet away. The expression on his face was hard to read, but Yasha could see the cruel expectation on it when he looked up for Ikithon. The blood in her eyes and hands was her own, now. Something hot and acid twisted in her gut, and Yasha knew just how close to death she was. 

But it wasn’t until Jester yelled, “Hey, that’s _cheating_!” that she realized what must have happened. If they could change the dream, so could Caleb. Caleb, who was trying to kill them. 

“Wake _up,_ man!” Beau said, from not-very-far away. Yasha pushed her way back through the trees, which had grown thicker and tighter together in a moment. Against her back, she felt the itch of an oncoming spell, but managed to shrug it off. She needed to find her party, make sure they were...

The wreckage of the lawn hadn’t changed much in the wind. But Jester was crouched next to Caduceus, unconscious on the stone. Nott was huddled in the shadow of a garden statue, both hands clutched to her chest to hold her ribs together. Astrid was awake, though still bloody, a wickedly curved dagger in one hand. Fjord was using his falchion to stand up from where he’d been blasted onto his knees. Even as Yasha watched he turned to spit blood onto the ground. 

Beau was also breathing heavily, clutching her staff in a way that meant she couldn’t stand without it. Caleb stood next to her, both hands pressed to his head looking...almost exactly like the younger version of him had, before the fire came. 

Warily, Yasha looked around, tried stepping on one of the flickering remnants of the fireball. It was still there when she lifted her foot, a little more singed than before. 

“You’re damn right this isn’t how it happened,” Beau transferred her grip to the front of Caleb’s robes, letting her staff fall to the ground. Yasha, keeping one eye on the fire, thought she saw it flicker a little higher. But the whole scene was slowed, thick with some struggle she could feel in the very air. “Wake _up,_ Caleb,” Beau said again, more gently. 

The boy just looked at her. His mouth opened and closed a few times, until finally he said, “If this isn’t...how it goes?” 

But Astrid finished the sentence, sliding up behind Jester and slitting her throat. “Then it can go however you want,” the Zemnian girl said viciously. Jester choked, and black smoke poured out with her blood. Beau screamed, shoving Caleb back as she ran to her friend. 

Yasha couldn’t beat her there, despite being closer, because this time the tickle of a spell at the back of her neck didn’t dissipate, but grabbed and held her whole. She could hear her joints crack as they froze, the impulse to _run_ still pounding through her. The fires burned no brighter, Caleb in the distance still standing slack as Astrid’s dagger swept dismissively through Caduceus’ chest and darted towards Fjord. Smoke stinking of charred meat and plaster poured in around them, obscuring almost everything--but not before the short sword emerged from her chest, cold as winter, stopping her from breathing. 

***

“This isn’t...how it goes?” He turned to Astrid, who wrapped a hand around his upper arm. Behind him, his mother screamed; it was the sound of ice cracking in his mind. 

“You can make it better, Bren,” Astrid said, and he could feel Eodwulf’s hand on his shoulder, holding him up. Holding him back. “You can make it right this time.”

He was breathing too fast, he knew. Black dots closed in around his vision, or was that smoke? He could _smell_ his _parents burning_. Bren buried his face in Astrid’s shoulder and the ice...stopped cracking. He was a spiderweb of fault lines, but he was not broken. He focused on Astrid’s hand in his hair, and began to let go of the truth--that this was not how it happened. 

And then someone called his name. “Caleb!” she said, but that wass not his name, his name was--

“Caleb! Where the fuck is he?”

And someone else he loved said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to kick his smoky ass for that shit, just wait.” 

And Jester sounded worried when she said, “Do you think _our_ Caleb goes somewhere else than we do?” 

Caleb looked back, to where the voices were coming from, and saw the smoking wreck of his home...and the ice broke. He fell, and fell, and he would _never stop falling_ , he would never _deserve to stop falling_ because he _killed them_ , and only then did the smoke swallow him.


	8. Chapter 8

It took them longer to find Caleb, this time. The smoke room was almost the same; you would've had to have had a memory like Caleb's to notice any differences. In the end it was Jester who found him, not sitting with his back to the wall but literally curled up on the floor like he’d been trying to sleep. He was harder to see, too, almost completely transparent in the pale light of Caduceus’ staff. 

She fell to her knees next to him, something hot and bitter caught in her throat. "Caleb," she said, not very quietly, wishing desperately that she could touch him. Shake his shoulder, or hold his hand, or at least brush the hair out of his face. Smoke-Caleb was so obviously _their_ Caleb, though his Xhorhasian coat was torn and bloody, his hair stained with smoke and stringy with sweat. Wanting Caleb to be okay wasn't always like wanting Beau to be okay, or Fjord. Ever since she'd known him, Caleb had always been so Not Okay that even the smallest steps felt like huge triumphs. And here he was so....

Beau came up behind her, put a hand on her shoulder. Jester twisted to look back at her, frustration blurring her words into tears. "He's just _lying_ there. I hate this!" 

"He did just try to kill us," Fjord said, coming up on her other side. 

"That wasn't _him_ -him," Nott snapped, already pulling out her message-wire. "That was some dream, or memory, or whatever. Caleb! Caleb, wake up!" 

Smoke-Caleb stirred at her feet, pushed himself to a sitting position and very slowly pulled his hair back. Jester could see him muttering something, could see his hands shaking even as the edges of them curled into black.

And Jester was not so busy watching Caleb that she missed the terror, the shock on Nott’s face. The was her clever fingers shook as they realigned the spell.

“What’s he _saying?”_ she demanded, reaching out to put one hand on Nott’s arm.

Nott looked at her with that same wild-eyed terror, and for a moment couldn’t speak. “Let me--just let me--” she cleared her throat and cast the spell again. “Caleb, what do you mean? You _promised_ , you said... I need you to tell me how to fix this.”

Caleb shook his head, the motion blurring his face into pale smoke that settled only when he stopped moving. Jester couldn’t tell if he was even saying anything, let alone pick out words from his lip-movements.

Nott cursed vehemently and waved her hand again over the wire, her fear starting to snarl into anger. “Only _what_ , Caleb? Wake up, if you know how! Your dream-wizard friends fucking killed us a second ago, so we would also love to _not be here_.”

“He knows how to wake up?!” Beau yelped.

“Tell him to get on that shit!” Fjord snapped.

“I also like not dying,” Yasha suggested, more softly. “Even if it’s in a dream.”

If Caleb answered, Jester didn’t see it. Nor did Nott jump into a response like she had before. Instead, he reached slowly into a pocket of his almost invisible jacket, smiling his sideways smile when he pulled out his own fragment of wire. It shone unnaturally bright in the light of Cad’s staff, a single glimmer of coppery smoke that wavered like it was always on the edge of disappearing. And when he cast, even though she couldn’t hear him, Jester figured out who the spell was for. It wasn’t Nott that flinched, but Beau.

“Fuck that,” Beau snapped, even as Jester coughed as the smoke started to roil. “You don’t get to be all cryptic about shit, and then ask for that. Fuck you, we’re saving your life, or your mind, or _whatever_ _we have to_.” 

“Guys,” Caduceus warned them, but it was too late. The room closed in around them like fog, stinking of burnt stone and sulphur. Jester coughed again and held her breath even as Caleb, next to her, vanished first.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Beau made sure of was that they were all together. The Mighty Nein clustered around her, taking up the entirety of an arching stone hallway about ten feet wide and at least twenty feet tall. There was a chill in the air, nothing serious but definitely noticeable, mitigated by the elaborate tapestries on all of the walls. Fjord put his back to hers, the falchion already in his hand...but nothing tried to kill them. The last of the smoke cleared away, and Beau could see thin, arched windows at the end of the hall, along with a couple of intersections closer by. 

And three children huddled at the corner of one such intersection, all of them dressed in some kind of uniform and sporting the same terrible bowl cut. She elbowed Fjord, then pointed out the kids to the rest of the group. 

“Should we--” Jester started to say, but she was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of someone around the other corner falling on their ass with a loud  _ OOF _ . A burst of muffled laughter echoed off the stone ceiling--one of the kids doubled over with their hand over their mouth, while another peeked around to see the results of their prank. 

Beau couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but all of a sudden the three made a break for it--rushing, inevitably, straight for the Nein. Somehow, it was easy to recognize Caleb at the front, though his hair was carrot-top red, rather than the deeper color (and dirt) adult-Caleb had. His face was a little rounder, a little softer. There was something about the wildness in his smile, maybe, or the familiar too-smart-for-his-own-good look in his eyes. He and his buddies were maybe twelve, here, younger than they had been at the house. Though she’d never seen them up close in the real world, Beau could put two and two together. Astrid was the short, slight girl with a snub nose, and Eodwulf was the tall one with a bit of pudge. Both of them followed half a step behind Caleb--Bren--and both of them skidded to a stop when he did right in front of the Nein.

“Hallo!” Caleb said, as bright and innocent as a lamb. 

“ _ Cay- _ leb,” Jester said with delight, leaning down to look him in the eye, “Did you just pull a  _ prank _ ?”

“I don’t know who  _ that _ is,” Ca--Bren said, still smiling. “But we--my friends and I--would be so  _ very _ grateful if you could...help us out?” he held up both hands, a little shrug that said he didn’t mind one way or another. Beau could see the smear of butter or grease on his right palm, but stayed quiet. For the moment. 

From the hallway behind them, furious wizardly mutterings were punctuated by the squeak of leather on extremely slippery stone. Eodwulf nudged Bren’s shoulder, glancing anxiously behind them. Bren twitched but didn’t break, looking around each of the Mighty Nein with hopefully puppy-dog eyes that Beau instantly mistrusted. Nott was the first one to speak up, even as she reached up to pull her hood down lower. 

“Of course we’ll help,” she said, digging her other hand into Fjord’s leg hard enough that he winced away. “And maybe  _ you _ can help  _ us _ afterwards.” 

Bren made sure he exchanged looks with his two co-conspirators before holding out a hand for Nott to shake. “Deal.” 

Nott’s hesitation was covered up by the clatter of a tapestry being pulled to the ground as the baby wizards’ victim finally made his way free of the trap. Caleb and Co. darted back behind the rest of the group, Eodwulf managing to duck into Yasha’s shadow with a sheepish grin. 

Beau was expecting some paper-pusher or spindly professor-type--she was  _ not _ expecting  _ Trent fucking Ikithon _ to pull himself to his feet, his robes sticky with magical bacon grease and a scowl fit to spoil milk. The Archmage snapped his fingers, glaring around the hallway as his robes cleaned and straightened themselves. 

“You!” he said sharply, turning to march in their direction. “Who are you? What business do you have in the Soltryce Academy?” He eyed them closely, his lip curled in a familiar sneer. Beau felt Bren huddle closer behind her, and she half-instinctively squared her shoulders to take up more space. To draw more notice towards herself. 

“We’re, uh, we’re...”

“So sorry, my good sir,” Fjord said in his poshest accent, extending a hand that Ikithon, of course, refused to take. “Our group has only recently come under contract with one of your Archmages. Vess DeRogna?”

While Ikithon paused his sneering to think about that, Fjord looked around the group for support. Jester nodded vehemently, Nott took a swig of her flask, Caduceus frowned and nodded at the same time, and Beau looked at the wizened old bastard and thought  _ really hard at him _ . After all, this was a dream? Wasn’t it?

“That seems reasonable,” Ikithon said, mostly to himself. He did give them another evil glare, and it was so similar to the look he'd given them before he ordered them dead like an hour ago that Beau leaned back with a grimace. But all the Archmage did was turn away with a dramatic sweep of his robes. Everyone, Mighty Nein and wizardlings, sighed with relief as Ikithon rounded a corner. "The library?" Astrid asked, glancing between Eodwulf and Bren.

"The library," Bren agreed.

"It'll be safer to talk there," Eodwulf explained.

But as the other two set off down the hall, Astrid actually tugging on Caduceus' sleeve, Bren hesitated. Looked back in the direction Ikithon had gone.

"Hey," Beau said, quietly. "You okay?" 

"Ja, it's just...Did I miss something? I--maybe I should have... This isn't--"

"How it happened?" Beau finished. Her mouth was a little dry--the last time he'd said that to her he'd just fireballed the party in a country garden.

Bren shook himself out of a daze and smiled back at her, a sad kind of smile so familiar that it hurt. Beau found herself smiling back without thinking, and slung an arm around his shoulders. Caleb had jumped a foot in the air when she first tried this, but Bren only bumped closer to her for a moment before slipping away. He jogged up to join his baby wizard friends, grinned back at Beau, and led the way.

***

The library of the Soltryce Academy was, at least in Caleb's dream, kind of awesome. It wasn't nearly as big as the Archive their dreaming bodies were hiding in, but there were countless dark wood shelves, polished to a shine, all overflowing with books kept clean of dust. Busts of old Archmages and other important historical figures stood at the end of each shelf, and little tables with padded leather chairs had been placed in the alcoves. Right now they were the only people here, deep in the hush every library created so that even their breathing seemed loud.

The wizardlings headed right for a study nook about halfway down the hall, settling themselves around the table with all the familiarity of long use. There weren't nearly enough chairs for everyone to sit, but they were mostly hidden from the view of anyone not crossing directly in front of their shelf. 

"So," Bren said, looking utterly in control even as the Nein blockaded his only exit. "You're here working for Archmage DeRogna?"

"It was just the first name that popped into my head," Fjord admitted with a slight grimace. "We're here looking for...someone."

"Did you  _ sneak into the Academy _ ?" Astrid leaned forward, her eyes wide. She smiled up at them, so that Beau could see there was a gap in her front teeth that made her look even younger.

Beau exchanged looks with Jester, sharing but not showing her friend's heartbroken look. Yeah, it was sad what had happened to these kids. But it had already happened, and they had a job to do here. Not to mention that Caleb planned to kill himself at the end of this dream. Or he was going to make her do it.

"We're looking for Caleb," Nott said, even as she pulled her sleeves forward to hide her green hands. "Caleb Widogast. He's our friend."

Bren shuddered and stayed silent. Astrid and Eodwulf looked at each other before shrugging, unaffected. "Is he a student here?" Eodwulf asked.

"He was," Caduceus said with one of his gentle smiles. "He's very important, and not just to us. He's got things to do, back home."

Beau felt a cold breeze across her skin, heard crickets for a second. But when she looked around there was only the library, warm sunlight streaming through the window behind them. Bren was sitting with his head in his hands, even as Astrid and Eodwulf shook their heads.

"Can we talk about something else?" Bren asked, and when he looked up the circles under his eyes were all Caleb. "Please?"

"I'm so sorry, Bren." Jester took the last remaining chair, reaching out across the table to take his hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry that any of this happened to you. You pulled a pretty good prank, back there."

Bren's sideways smile was still lighter than Caleb's, less troubled. "We're not supposed to be casting spells that advanced, yet," he confided. "I copied it out of one of the old books in here."

Jester's grin was, as always, infectious.

The faint smell of smoke broke any peace they might have had, in that little nook. Fjord didn't, quite, summon his sword, but Beau could see seawater dripping from his fingers. "Sorry to break up the party, kids," he said, and Beau could hear the grind in his teeth. None of them wanted to be burned alive.  _ Again _ . "But we don't have a lot of time."

"We can't help you," Astrid said. She put both her hands flat on the table and stood up, sudden anger in her cute blue eyes. She looked a lot more like the Astrid from the country house now, the Astrid with a crossbow bolt sticking out of her chest. "We don't know any Caleb Widogast. We  _ don't _ ."

"You do," Yasha crossed her arms, her pale eyes fixed on Bren. "I'm sorry, but you all know him. Terrible things have happened, and more of them are going to happen if we don't get him back."

"I just..." Bren shivered, even though he was sitting in the sun, and then the world flashed night-dark. The smell of old leather and paper vanished, replaced by smoke and dew and old hay.

Astrid and Eodwulf vanished as well, but Bren didn't. He stood on a dirt road, clutching at his arms and shivering. Beau turned around, taking in the little bit of moonlight on the wheat fields, the grass tall and green and silver. About a hundred feet away down the path, a one-story farmhouse was smoking. Thatch roof, gray slate walls. From here she could just make out some kind of design painted on the window shutters. She knew whose house it was, of course. They all did.

The explosion still took them by surprise. Half of the house was instantly engulfed in flame, outlining three figures standing at the edge of a walled garden. Beau looked back, but there was Bren, still twelve, tears shining like fire on his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying, so quietly that Beau wasn't completely sure he was speaking out loud.

Up ahead, at the house, someone started screaming. All of them flinched. Nott bent her ears down to her head to cover them.

Jester started running forward, and then they were all moving in the direction of the fire. Beau outpaced them all, of course, just in time to see Caleb/Bren turn, grabbing on to Astrid like he was drowning. She could see his face, thin and hollow in the darkness, twisted into horror that would never go away, not completely. But he didn't fall--Astrid stumbled under his weight, but she held him. Beau glanced towards the house, saw the cart in front of the door, the roof burning, the paint flaking off the windows. The screaming that broke into moans, and then stopped.

Beau's fist took Astrid by surprise. The wizard girl actually flew backwards, several feet away from both Caleb and the fire. Beau grabbed the front of Caleb's red robes with both fists, pulled him up to her. "You fucking asshole," she said, as gently as she fucking could. Caleb/Bren stared at her, eyes wide, unrecognizing. "I figured it out," Beau continued furiously. Everything seemed to slow down--the fire, the other wizards, even the wind blowing smoke and the stink of charred meat into her face. "This isn't how it happened, right?" she shook him a little. Caleb/Bren put his hands up over hers, but didn't try to push her off. "This isn't how  _ they wanted it to happen _ . You were going to change what happened here so that you could wake up.  _ This _ is where you always go, why that room always looks like smoke."

"I didn't--I don't--" Caleb/Bren looked back towards the house, the roaring fire. Beau shook him again.

"You don't get to be that person," she told him. Behind her, she could hear the rest of the Mighty Nein finally catching up. Maybe Eodwulf or Astrid tried something--Beau felt a spell whisper in the back of her mind, but shook her head and shrugged it off. "You're  _ not Bren _ . You're not a Scourger, or a Vollstrecker, or whatever. You're not like that woman in the cell under Rosohna."

"Rosohna," Caleb said, the vagueness beginning to leave. Under her hands, Beau could feel the soft robes changing to purple silk.

"Yeah, that's it." Beau let him down a little, to see if he could stand on his own two feet. "Remember? We're heroes of the fucking Dynasty."

Caleb wasn't short anymore, wasn't a kid. He looked at her outlined by fire, blood and dirt on his face but definitely their Caleb, now.

"Beauregard," he said, and looked over her shoulder. She couldn't quite track all of the emotions that went over his face, but she definitely saw shame, and grief, and some different kind of horror.

Jester, of course, nearly tackled him to the ground with her hug. "Caleb!" Beau had to keep hold of Caleb's jacket just to keep them both on their feet. Caleb stood frozen with his hands pinned to his sides, torn between more horror and breaking down in tears. Nott's arrival, while less likely to send them all tumbling, did more to break down Caleb's walls than anything else. Still pinned by Jester, he managed to bend down and scoop Nott up into his arms. The little goblin girl was probably the only person Beau had ever seen him hug, on his own.

"You made a promise," Nott said, into his shoulder.

"Is this what we're doing now?" Caduceus said, looming up behind them. He wrapped his long arms around all five of them, rested the side of his head on top of Caleb's with a sigh. "It's gonna be okay, Mister Caleb." He patted them gently. Beau was crushed together with the rest, but she didn't mind. It gave her an excuse to fold herself in closer, to drown out the crash of the roof behind them. Caleb was crying, she could feel his whole body shaking even if she couldn't hear him.

"Caleb," Yasha said, and her quiet voice shouldn't have been as clear as it was. "After everything you forgave me for, do you think I--that we would hold this against you? We are not the terrible things we have done. You told me that."

"Ah, but I did not mean it for myself," he only whispered it, but they all heard.

The noise of the fire was fading. Beau pulled back, a little, to see a black room unclouded by smoke. Caleb was here, still with them, still touchable. He tried to smile, though the expression was hollow, and put Nott gently back on the ground. She wouldn't let go, at first, until he sat down next to her so she could cling to his sleeve. He looked up at everyone else, unselfconscious, and leaned against his first best friend. "The Mighty Nein," he said, and his smile became a little more solid. A little more true. "I have tried to be better, because of you. For you. I...perhaps we should not have come to Rexxentrum. Certainly you never deserved to have my past dragged into your lives. I was selfish."

"Don't be stupid," Beau said. She kicked his knee, just a little, and scowled down at him. "We all know the Cerberus Assembly sucks. This isn't about you and your tragic past, or at least it isn't  _ only _ about that."

"It's about the war, and everyone suffering, and people we know being hurt," Jester crouched down. "People we know also means you, Caleb. We came to get you out because you came to save us, before. Me and Fjord and Yasha. That's what we do, we save each other."

"You're already better than any of these assholes," Fjord held out his hand, scarred palm up. "We're gonna make sure they don't hurt anyone else. And we’re gonna need your help to do it."

Caleb took a deep breath. And then another. And then he reached up to grab Fjord's hand, to haul himself (and Nott) back to his feet. The black room began to fracture around them, under their feet. It cracked into geometric pieces, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Beau caught glimpses of arcane symbols in the light they left, circles and diamonds and words she almost knew--but they overwhelmed themselves with light, until there was only blankness.

And then they woke up.


End file.
